Salutaris felt a humiliation beyond anything he could comprehend. Never—never—had any creature dared to impede his endeavors.
Not since that bastard.
A howling wind burst from Venemaris' body as dark green scales tightened across its new form. Wings unfurled, gaining a shivering dark aura. Then, with a final clack, chitinous armor locked into place—sleek, glossy, perfectly fitted. Only the head remained exposed, tufts of small blue feathers growing like a mockery of innocence.
And behind that head, the chosen's venomous gaze cut through the air.
He would show them true godly might.
A blast of scorching heat signaled Jimena's attack. Her fist was already inches from his face when Salutaris casually swatted her aside. The satisfying smack—like crushing a bothersome fly—sent a thrill of relief through him. He twitched his new wings, spreading each two-meter span wide. The cursed scales along them gathered in mesmerizing circular patterns, glowing like open eyes—portals to a foreign abyss lurking beneath their surface.
The shudder running through the girls amused him.
Slithering forward, he moved toward the bowing forest. The ceiba trees wavered, their trunks barely holding under the support of Marisol's pink mist.
After batting the firefly away again, Salutaris spit onto the trees blocking his path. His corrupted venom spread instantly. The essence of death devoured their protections; the venom extinguished their resistance, leaving rotting corruption to bloom unchecked.
He savored the water flea's growing anxiety. Her scent was exquisite—fear distilled to its purest form. Such joy. Such marvelous, primal sweetness. His eyes rolled back in delight, snake-like tongue flicking frantically to lap at the invisible perfume.
The air trembled—and then he moved.
The resulting sonic boom uprooted the dying trees and made the cavernous ceiling groan as pressure mounted on the remaining forest.
With a wet crunch, Marisol crashed through thick ceiba trunks, mowing them down in her path. She lay sprawled against fallen giants, her body twitching with sharp cracking sounds as it attempted to heal. Her danburite armor faded into motes of light that fed her desperate regeneration.
Jimena barely had time to become a streak of flame before Salutaris intercepted her.
With a final contemptuous strike, he shredded through the incoming comet. His claws tore into her chest as though her molten obsidian armor were nothing. Flesh parted. Fire guttered.
The cavern filled with the reek of burning blood.
Jimena had tried her best to keep the thing away from Marisol—yet she had failed. The surge of death's power that had once bolstered her had vanished, drawn instead into whatever Tomas had become. Indignation burned in her chest at the cruel turn of fate.
Then a whisper slipped through her drifting thoughts as her body hung suspended in the air.
A voice—regal, commanding worship by its very nature.
A deadly feminine presence wrapped around her, enfolding her like a shroud. Then it thickened, shaped, molded—forming an older body around physical and intangible.
Pressure crashed down as a perfect form took shape: a toned stomach; long, powerful legs ending in bare toes, that gripped stone as though it were soft sand; arms adorned with white bone bracelets that clattered in taunting rhythm. Her painted skin—half wrapped in bones—radiated a mesmerizing, lethal charm with every soft step and subtle roll of her hips.
Mictecacihuatl.
A choker of polished white fangs circled her throat. The sculpted skull of a Xoloitzcuintli rested over her deep valley, bones cupping her chest like a cage holding in a flowing, rippling mass. Her face, painted in the visage of a skull—except the jaw, marked in vivid red as if the bone itself were absent.
Time froze as Jimena's transformation reached its apex. Salutaris's claws stopped merely a foot from the goddess's grinning face. Her tongue traced her seductive lips as a burning sigil flared on her forehead:
A skull with its tongue out—laughing.
Magenta fire roared through its eyes.
A concentrated beam erupted, lancing across the cavern.
Salutaris never had a chance to react.
The offending limb—the one that had dared approach her—was obliterated. Ash hung suspended in the air, caught in the stillness as the creature, startled out of its pride, scrambled back—slithering, stumbling, anything to escape the radiant death before him.
The goddess eased her pressure, and the groaning cavern relaxed. Jimena sagged inside the divine form, her body barely holding together. The descent-supporting gem throbbed with scalding heat. Inside it, a tiny Xolo huffed in exhaustion, watery eyes hiding a deep indignation.
Mictecacihuatl attempted another step—but her divine foot cracked like overheated clay. Jimena's own blistered leg broke through, burned bright red. Fissures split the goddess's form, crawling from her hips up toward her chest.
She pouted at the sight of Venemaris fleeing. The wretched godling was too mentally fortified for her death whispers. It seemed the beam had been the peak of Jimena's current strength.
The rest… would fall on—
Her body finally gave way.
The divine shell collapsed into dust, releasing an unconscious, scorched Jimena to the forest floor.
---
Jaime had left the village in a rush the moment Chia conjured the smoky owl apparition. Behind him, the villagers promised offerings to their cuauhxicalli, their voices fading as he sprinted away. He could only hope Marisol and Jimena were still alive as he chased the glowing trail of embers cutting through the night.
Cimi chattered nonstop in his mind—urgent, insistent, nervous. Her agitation only sharpened the worry gnawing at his gut. Finally, he whispered for her aid.
Cimikora's power wrapped around him instantly. Golden divinity cloaked his body, and obsidian plates formed across his skin in the pattern of her armor. His helmet sealed into place—a great owl's visage with blazing sun-bright eyes—just as he leapt after the phantom owl streaking ahead.
The apparition's speed grew with his, guiding him forward. Even so, Jaime's heavy body could barely outpace the speed he had on foot. But its straight, unerring path was enough—more than enough—until he knew where the girls were and whether he would be forced to fight.
Cimi's reassurance sat in the back of his mind, even as she was the one who had sparked his deepest anxiety. Her earlier cry of warning still echoed inside him like a relentless echo.
He flew with his thoughts tangled and frantic, burning power with every desperate beat of his golden-veined obsidian wings.
Above him, the crescent moon watched—silent and forlorn—over the lone golden figure racing across the night.
---
Marisol felt herself slip into a dream. The suffocating agony she had endured dissolved into a distant echo. In the quiet that followed, a pair of green eyes watched her from the clouds above—their gaze soft, gentle. From them fell millions upon millions of droplets, each one sinking into her mind like a soothing balm.
Her physical body lay wrapped in vines and thick roots, cocooning her to prevent further harm. They fed her life, though the constant drain further weakened the remaining ceiba trees still struggling to hold the stone and soil above. Fist-sized chunks of debris were already falling in steady intervals ever since the oppressive godly pressure nearby.
The gem on her chest pulsed with jade light. Then, it began to release water that cloaked her entire body, flowing into an emerald-like slime that rose, hardened, and shaped itself into a mature feminine form.
Soft fabric rolled like gentle waves over smooth legs. Bare feet walked atop flowing jade water that nourished what remained of the dying forest, creating a small sanctuary amid the collapse. Her curvaceous form glided toward Jimena like a river given life.
She knelt and gathered the charred Jimena against her bountiful bosom, channeling life into the scorched body. Then she pressed her forehead to the unconscious girl's, checking the state of her Tonalli, mending anything out of alignment.
Next came her Teyolia, and the small, exhausted Xolo curled within it. Axochi stirred in Marisol's gem and gently shared his essence with the weakened spirit, balancing what had been thrown into chaos.
Lastly, she inspected Jimena's stomach—and found the creeping tendrils of corruption eating away inside her. Jade water purified what it could, dissolving rot and venom, but her power soon ran dry.
Chalchiuhtlicue cried bitterly as she realized how little she had left to give.
Through the curtain of her long hair, she watched the once-cowardly creature slither back into view. It sneered at her tears as it approached, dripping contempt at the sight of her weeping form—thin arms wrapped protectively around the slowly healing Jimena.
The air trembled with words of power as Salutaris crawled closer. The stump where his arm had been pulsed, flesh squirming as it regenerated. Most of his strength had been drained away by the holy fire that had devoured him; he had survived only by severing a massive portion of his shoulder.
Yet after sensing the weakened goddess and watching from afar, he had already determined his victory over the chosen and the gods behind them. Joy—sickening and wild—had lured him closer, his caution drowned beneath the thrill of triumph.
The sight of the weeping water goddess sealed his decision.
He approached, hungry for the kill.
Jimena felt her cracked skin knit together, heat returning to her limbs in slow, steady waves. The fire in her heart surged with a violent roar, rekindled by the power pouring into her. Xolo howled within her chest—furious, defiant—as godly might pressed down on them like a crushing tide.
Chalchiuhtlicue leaned down and placed a gentle kiss upon Jimena's forehead. With that single touch, she transferred the last remnants of her vitality. Her body glimmered, fractures of light racing across her form before she crumbled into countless crystalline shards.
Marisol collapsed from the dissipating form, drained and trembling, watching helplessly as Jimena began to stir—magenta flames flickering low around her like embers refusing to die.
Yet even this rekindled fire did nothing to slow the wicked creature approaching them.
So with a feral snarl, Jimena rose. She funneled everything—every drop of divinity within her gem, every scrap of strength her body could muster—and hurled herself at the wretched god.
The monster met her charge with mocking eyes—until her sacred fire struck him and wiped the arrogance clean off his face.
Jimena was neither as powerful nor as in control as her goddess, but her flame burned with unyielding resolve. She would fight until the last spark of her life guttered out.
With explosive force she attacked—punching, kicking, biting—her movements wild and relentless. The snarling xoloitzcuintli helmet around her head released sharp puffs of smoke, excited by the promise of turning this corrupt god into a glorious pyre.
With one final burst of speed, she drove her entire body into him. The impact sent the possessed Tomas spiraling across the underground world, his glossy chitinous armor cracking like a brittle façade—pretending at strength and dignity it no longer possessed.